Talking Optimist Blues
by PatronSaintOfBEGA
Summary: Also for Dixon Oriole! Enough Bad Days. It's January on the beach, freezing, and we're gonna have a Good Day, today... Review and I love you!


**Talking Optimist Blues**

**-------**

_"...Dog just died but what the heck,_

_Nothing worse can happen anyway!_

_So I'm gonna have a good day, today..."_

_ - "Talking Optimist Blues", Neil Diamond_

**-------**

"Let's go to the beach."

Looking up from the essay he'd been working on, Garland tried not to sigh. Brooklyn had appeared again and was leaning both elbows on his desk, right in front of him, demanding.

"Let's go to the beach," he repeated. Garland put the pen down and removed his reading glasses.

"Why?"

"Jack's really sad. He'll like it." Of course. That was the reason this week; one of the household Alsatians had died. Jack, the remaining one, had been padding about very quietly since, or moping in his basket in the boot room. And Brooklyn had just been _trouble_. Awkward, disobedient, destructive, and yesterday spent the entire day sat persuading sonatas out of the dining room piano, ignoring the universe. Garland didn't have the energy to refuse.

"Fine."

**-----**

The nearest beach to the house was twenty-five miles away, but having recently passed his test, Garland drove there without complaint. Jack laid dismally on the backseat until the car stopped and he was let out, snuffing at the air and ground. Barking as he caught the scent of saltwater. Brooklyn mimicked the noise back at him and laughed, following the dog off out of the car park, towards the beach.

Garland rested his forehead against the car door for a moment, then locked it before going after them.

**-----**

The only place on the beach to sit, it turned out, was a scruffy collection of sand dunes. Pulled back from the sea and littered with clumps of wiry grasses, they offered a hint of shelter from the wind currently sweeping the flat shoreline. Garland settled on the beach side of a higher one. Resigned to not going anywhere for a while, he stretched his legs out in front of him without enjoying it, and watched Jack and Brooklyn playing fetch with various chunks of driftwood. The dog was still barking excitedly, Brooklyn still laughing at him, breathless, hair almost copper in the watery sunlight. Everything else on the beach looked wrung-out. The sand was all greyish or beige, the sea a faded navy hue where it bothered to have any shade at all, and nothing was in flower. Only tough, spiky winter plants were visible, tangling in and under the dunes. Garland exhaled deeply into the freezing air. He wrapped his arms around himself, shuddering at the temperature and the resonating high laughter from further down the beach; had there been cliffs, he was sure it would've echoed. It did in the house. No one else was home at the moment, and it was more difficult that way. Because he couldn't just ask Kylie, or Moses or anyone for help when he was too weary and frustrated. When Brooklyn had once again made one metaphorical step forward, and another one, and then startled at the movement and run fifty yards back in the other direction. And wouldn't sleep or eat properly, shrieked and threw furniture in panic at something that wasn't there, refusing to listen to anything at all.

After that kind of thing for five days, going to the beach was nothing. Even if it was mid-January and below zero outside, and everyone sane was clearly at home because the beach was deserted. He sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, listening to at least Jack enjoying himself.

**-----**

Eventually, the dog went off to dig in the sand. Garland waited, and felt a body collapse beside him in a rush of cold, salty air.

"Hey!"

"Hey," he replied, opening his eyes to stare at the ocean. There was little movement there to speak of.

"Are you alright?" The older teen nodded wearily.

"Mm."

"Oh." Brooklyn went quiet. Looked at the sand; dug at a flat pebble with one finger. Glanced at Garland from the edges of his eyes. "...I was really bad this week, huh," he offered after some time, softly. Garland continued to stare at the sea.

"It's okay." He was watching small waves breaking pathetically on the sand. "You didn't mean it."

"I did," the other murmured, hugging his knees and resting his chin on one of them, "I meant it at the time. But I don't now. I mean, when I'm thinking." He paused to breathe steam towards the sky. Looked at Garland again, timidly. "...'m a lousy friend. Were you scared?"

Garland mentally cursed how bad he felt then, just because it was such a wretched, unsure breed of apology - surely he wasn't _that_ intimidating? And really neither of them wanted to stay awake all night, or invited whatever imaginary terror it was into the house. _Nobody_ wanted it.

"No." He glanced reassurance at his supposed friend. "I was worried, though." The redhead turned to stare at him suddenly; he looked away again.

"You...really?"

"Yes." A frown drew his eyebrows together as sharp laughter shot from beside him. "What?"

"That's funny," Brooklyn snickered at him shrilly.

"I was," he insisted, reaching out a hand just in case, "The - the chandelier was shaking all the time, I was worried it'd, it'd fall on you or something. It's - "

"You...ah - that's so bizarre!"

"I just - " And Brooklyn looked around, as the hand touched his arm, and was smiling. Enough to show teeth, even. Garland blinked, struggling momentarily, and then a pant of laughter escaped his own mouth. "I - ha - I thought it might," he admitted, shaking his head, "God, I don't know why. It was just moving a lot, and I, I mean, I was afraid it might fall on your head or something, and we'd have to go to the hospital..." By this time, both were laughing hopelessly, irrationally at each other. Over nothing, which was fairly much what Garland had been so worried about _anyway_, which was fairly _stupid_.

"It'd be the most beautiful concussion," Brooklyn declared. He'd clutched onto the older teen's coat-sleeve, quietening a little. "All those crystals...! Wow." Garland rested a hand on the inside of his friend's elbow, nodding in agreement.

"I suppose it would..." He shifted the hand back and forth soothingly, and after a minute both of them were silent again. The sky, he noticed, was suddenly huge; watercoloured cornflower blue with long swipes of white cloud overhead, some cumulus just visible in the distance. Along the beach, the wind swished small eddies of sand into the air. Garland shivered as a draught blew through his hair.

"You're really nice."

"Thanks." There was another sudden giggle from beside him. "What," he asked, smiling with minimally wary affection.

"...Jack's found a crab, look - his friend died last week, y'know, and he's just - I mean, he doesn't really know what to do with it, has he been to the beach before?"

"I've got no idea," the youngest Tzebult admitted, amused. Brooklyn was laughing again, and suddenly standing, pulling him up by the sleeve. Watching Jack snap at the crab, further down the beach. Then throwing his head back to examine the sky, eyes washed-out by the weak light, but broadcasting contentment on a universal frequency.

"...C'mon. Let's go help Jack."

"He's in the sea," Garland pointed out, eyebrows raising, "It's January, it'll be - "

"It'll be the most beautiful hypothermia," the other retorted happily, "C'mon."

Seized by the sleeve again, and without the will to protest, Garland joined in laughing helpessly. And ran the fifty haphazard yards back down to the tideline.

**-------**

**NOTES:**

**...for Dixon, again, just cause I CAN. And also as a form of daft f-d apology for hanging on till next email to rewrite that response for Chapter 4. OhgawdI'msorrypleasedon'thatemeee.**

**Srsly, f-d feels like a louse over that one. So enjoy this brain-dead little dedication, here.**

** - Moving on:**

** - The hell does feather-duster know what just went on here, either. Actually that's not true. Subtext yay. Or something. -dies-**

** - Garland and his folks can own Alsatians if they want to. They're lovely dogs. And seem veeeery fond of water, from feather-duster's experience of them.**

** - Going to the beach in the dead of winter is _awesome_. They're sooo lucky it didn't rain.**

** - Heeey, Garland can drive now. -throws celebration party- Good job there. Why's he writing an essay at the start? Cause _feather-duster said so_, that's why. And it seems likely.**

** - The dog is called Jack because he just is. **

** - Chandelier? threnody. That's what's up.**

** - Anyone wanting to know why Garland would call Moses for help with psycho!Brooklyn, better take a look at Moses again. He is both large and burly. "_Guards! Guards!_" Ahem.**

** - feather-duster is a little uncomfortable about this fic. Because it came out of nowhere while walking the dogs earlier today. And feather-duster likes to think a lot, lot, lot more about things before writing them than she did about this. So feel free to go ahead and offer some damn reassurance, folks.**

** - And on that very note: Review and I love you! **

**...Let's go to the beach.**


End file.
